It took him a while to lock up the car and figure out which key went where. By the time he got to the apartment, Whitby had his head buried in a bowl of food, but Zazu was nowhere in sight. Dropping his backpack by the door, Tony followed Arra’s voice into the living room to find her with her butt in the air and her head nearly under the couch. Wincing, he looked away.

“Look, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?” The wizard was sounding increasingly desperate with every word.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s making me pay.”

“Pay?”

“For abandoning her.” Shuffling backward on her knees, Arra straightened. “No one does guilt like a cat.”

“And you were only gone one night.”

From the way Arra narrowed her eyes she’d picked up the subtext. Just think of how she’ll feel if you abandon her for good. But all she said was, “Grab that catnip lizard out of the basket. It’s her favorite toy.”

Tony grabbed the stuffed animal that looked the most like a lizard and tossed it across the room.

“This isn’t a lizard, it’s a platypus!”

Say what? “Who the hell makes catnip platypuses?”

“Platypi. I get them at a local craft fair.” She ducked back under the couch. “Zazu, sweetie, see what I’ve got for you.”

“It’s almost quarter to ten. We don’t have time for this.”

Arra shuffled backward again. “Don’t tell me, tell her.”

Tony snagged the platypus out of the air as she tossed it back to him. As Arra stood and headed for the kitchen, he suddenly realized she expected him to coax the cat out from under the couch. “I don’t know anything about cats!”

“Good. Maybe a fresh approach will work.”

He thought about refusing, decided there was no percentage in it, and took up the position. Zazu glared at him from what was clearly just out of reach. Wait a minute. Just out of Arra’s reach . . . He wasn’t tall but he had a good four inches on her.

Grabbing the cat by a foreleg he started to slide her across the hardwood floor and nearly lost his hand at the wrist.

Ow! God damn it! Bad idea!

Except that it seemed to have worked. Whether she was satisfied now that she’d drawn blood or whether she was so mortally insulted she wasn’t staying under the couch for another moment, Tony couldn’t tell—nor, he supposed, did it matter. Point was, as he nursed his injuries, Zazu swaggered toward the kitchen, tail in the air.

Tony followed with a little less swagger, sucking his wrist.

“That Nightwalker of yours teaching you bad habits?”

“What? Oh.” A final lick and he let his arm fall to his side. “No. And he’s not mine.”